How to Keep Your Pathologist
by Adi Who is Also Mou
Summary: ...Or how Sherlock always spoils everything. Series of one\twoshots including our favorite Pathologist,and her attempts at dating, and the World's only consulting Detective who has made it his hobby to spoil them.
1. The Airdot Pilot Part one

How to keep your pathologist

**A/N: This plot has been gnawing at my brain for ages! I blame all the great sherlolly writers in this fandom for giving me feels. And a shout out to NoveraDeMedeci for fuelling my Sherlock obsession! You rock.**

**I plan on making this a series of one shots or two shots, pairing Molly with various characters from the Sherlock universe as well as other crossovers.**

**I did Martin\Molly first because it has to be my favorite. But eventual Sherlock\Molly, I promise you.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own any of this, thank God. I would have ruined it completely.**

_The Airdot Pilot_

PART 1

When Sherlock Holmes came into the morgue a St Bart's that day, rubbing his hands in excitement-the body in question was supposed to be delightfully mutilated and he was hoping to get the burst heart-he expected to find Molly Hooper either working on the cadaver or cleaning up after her work, the body cleared. He hoped it was the former, the latter case meant he would have to throw out a few compliments, and he was rather in a hurry.

What he didn't expect was to open the door and almost collide with her as she was coming out.

"Oh it's you," Molly squeaked, trying not to think about the intoxicating whiff she got due to her close proximity to him. Sigh, one sight of him and all those years of education, diplomas and _coherence_ went out the window.

"Ah yes, Molly. The Robinson body? Lestrade texted me the details."

Molly grimaced. She hadn't performed the autopsy herself, but she had gotten a glimpse of it. Whoever did that must have been pissed.

"Well?" Sherlock was saying; Molly looked up at him (God, why was he so tall?) and gathered a bit of coherence, "Actually, I just put him away."

Sherlock smiled winningly, an act that made him look very young and Molly flush scarlet, "You wouldn't mind wheeling him out again, would you?"

"Actually, I was just going…"

"Please?" Here, he widened his eyes for an added effect. He saw her shoulders hunch in, and knew that he had won. He was halfway to the slabs when she spoke up again.

"N-no."

"Hmm…?"

"I said, no. I have a lunch date, and I would like to go."

The look of utter confusion and shock on Sherlock's face was priceless. Molly memorized it; she was deriving entirely too much pleasure from it.

"But…but…"

Oh wow, she had made Sherlock Holmes stammer. The day was getting pretty eventful so far, and it was still just the afternoon!

Sherlock seemed to had recovered his bearings, and when he spoke his voice was cold, "Really Molly, another date? With the lab technician from downstairs?"

"How did you-?"

"The man is a devoted polygamist; he has two wives and three girlfriends. And judging by his right sleeve, he is an internet porn addict. So, do you really think it is wise to go ahead with that, or do something really useful like helping me with the body?"

Molly scowled, turned her heel and talked out of the room, taking care to slam the door shut on her way out. It would have been a dramatic exit; if she hadn't bumped her nose again the beam.

Glaring at Sherlock as if he was responsible for her injury and clumsiness, he just looked back at her blankly, and then she ran off.

* * *

Molly was in a towering temper when she entered the coffee shop, ranting in her mind about how Sherlock always _spoiled_ everything. She had cancelled her date, barely managing to be civil to Paul as she confronted him about the wives and girlfriends.

This was a bit new for Molly Hooper. She was usually soft-spoken and more often than not let almost everybody run her over. Today was different. She had had a trying week, Bart's being understaffed as usual. Everybody had a breaking point and she snapped today. She actually managed to put Sherlock down, something she always assumed was John Watson's prerogative.

The fact that putting Sherlock down was the only good thing that had happened to her today made her realize that she was dreadfully in need of a life outside the mortuary.

She was contemplating just that when SPLAT! And something cold and liquid fell straight on her head.

"Oh my god, I am so sorry! I…" the ginger haired rather lanky man who was responsible for the cold tea on her head, slipped on the spill and fell flat on the floor on his face.

"Oh, it's ok, I…Wait, Sherlock?"

The poor guy was still blabbering about how he would pay for her cleaning. Molly realized that there was no way he could be Sherlock. Sherlock maybe extraordinary, but even he couldn't change his hair color and general bearing that fast.

"I'm sorry; I thought you were someone I knew." Molly said, cutting across his blabbering.

"Oh, it's good." He smiled shyly and rubbed his neck. Molly was instantly charmed (accursed fickle organ!). He looked almost like Sherlock's twin, except being ginger, slightly tanned and younger looking. The cheekbones were the same, as were the eyes, but a lot warmer.

"And I'm dreadfully sorry about the tea…" He said, watching her wipe some of the tea off, "Can I make it up to you somehow...err…" he blushed, "May I get you something?"

Molly smiled for what seemed like the first time today. Feeling suddenly flirtatious and daring, (what? The guy was adorable!) she said, "Depends…will you join me?"

The man blushed even deeper- definitely not Sherlock- and smiled shyly, "If you want me to."

Molly extended her hand, "Hi, I'm Molly Hooper."

He shook it, "Hi, I'm Mol- I mean, Martin. Martin Crieff."

Molly giggled. Things were looking up all of a sudden.

* * *

_to be continued_

* * *

**Post Notes: I love Martin Crieff. Just absolutely love him. And I really really ship Martin\Molly, but this might still be Sherlolly. Why, you ask? Because I can.**

**Please Review, I greatly appreciate it!**

**Love. Adi x**


	2. The Airdot Pilot Part Two

**The Airdot Pilot**

**PART 2**

**A/N: I'm really nervous about posting this, but all those warm reviews and favs are just encouraging me on. Thanks and much love! Hope you like this.**

**And a huge hug to NoveraDeMedeci, for being such an awesome friend.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything in this. Thank your lucky stars. Cabin Pressure and Sherlock wouldn't be half as awesome if I ran them.**

* * *

"Why do you have your hand stretched out like that?"

"Hmm…?"

Sherlock finally looked up, "Oh, I asked Molly for coffee." He put down his hand, "It should've been here by now."

John rolled his eyes, "You do realize she left a few minutes after you came in? I saw her in the hall. Do you just come in and ask for coffee even if she isn't there?"

Sherlock turned his gaze back to the microscope, "She always offers, I just…speed the process along sometimes."

"For God's sake, Sherlock, she isn't your secretary!"

"Like I said, she always offers. Now, shut up."

John scowled at his back, just as the door swung noisily open and Molly came in, holding a mug of coffee and talking on her mobile at the same time. John had never actually seen her look this happy. She was more or less glowing,

"Aah, Molly, coffee…" Sherlock stretched out his hand for the second time, but Molly just walked right by him, still chatting on her phone.

John almost laughed out loud at Sherlock's scandalized expression.

"No, Martin, you really don't have to…Yes, I know…Oh, alright. Tomorrow night, Blue Fox, 7 30, then? Okay, see you then…Yeah me too."

Molly hung up and gave a most school girlish giggle, before catching herself and looking at the two men apologetically. John smiled kindly at her, "So things going well with Martin then?" They both had met Molly's new boyfriend; a lanky, ginger-haired man who was, disturbingly, almost Sherlock's twin, a few days ago. That particular St. Bart's visit wasn't one John would soon be forgetting.

Molly nodded happily, "Oh yes! He is super adorable, and a really decent…"

Sherlock snorted derisively. Molly looked a bit put out, and John glared.

"Go on Molly, you were saying?" John said, still glaring at the back of Sherlock's head.

Molly still looked hurt, but continued, "He's an airline pilot, isn't that great?"

"After failing six times? Yes, that's just brilliant." Sherlock muttered.

"Sherlock," John warned, "ignore him, Molly, he's just pissed he didn't get his morning cuppa."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Molly started guiltily, "I was just a bit preoccupied…I'll…uh, get you another cup." She started to get up.

"Don't bother Mo-" John began.

"Actually, we were just leaving." Sherlock said coldly, "Come along John, we need to tell Lestrade this ridiculously obvious case is solved."

"Already? But you only got this case two hours ago." John sounded panicky, and Molly didn't blame him. Getting run over by wild horses was a better prospect than putting up with a _bored _Sherlock.

"Yes, simple case, I don't know why the DI even bothers. Anderson could've solved this. Goodbye, Doctor Hooper."

Molly shivered involuntarily after they left. She suddenly had a creeping sensation of something coming her way in the future.

* * *

"What was all that about?" John said, the moment they were ensconced in a cab, heading towards Scotland Yard.

"The case is irritatingly boring, I shouldn't have-"

"No, not that you bloody idiot. I'm talking about Molly."

"Pardon? What about Molly?"

John looked at Sherlock's impassive face incredulously, "You mean, you have no idea you insulted her boyfriend and diminished her doctorate to a secretarial one?"

"I didn't insult Captain Crieff, I just said…"

"And how did you know he even failed his pilot's tests six times?"

Sherlock made a why-am-I-surrounded-by-idiot face, and said, "He's pretty young, wouldn't you say? Too young to already be a Captain. That means he's either very good or very bad. Judging by the state of the clothes he was wearing that day, I would say very bad, he doesn't get paid a lot or is unpaid. Unpaid probably, he seems like the foolish sentimental type to fly even without pay." He had said this all in one breath, and when he paused, John asked, "Then how do you he failed six times?"

"Molly was talking about how someone she knew had failed six times on their driving test, and he winced. Obvious."

John stared, "I would say fantastic…but…" He smirked, "Do you get a sick pleasure from deducing someone who has your face or is it you're just…jealous?"

Sherlock glared at him and harrumphed noisily.

"Only joking, lighten up already. You're not the one who has to deal with your "I'm-bored-so-I'll-irritate-everyone-and-shoot-walls-mood."

* * *

Martin Crieff had heard many people say many things about Sherlock Holmes. Arthur had typically worshipped Sherlock, every time Sherlock's name came into the paper for some "heroic" deed. Oddly, Arthur failed to mention that Martin and Sherlock were identical. Maybe he never associated the meek, clumsy, ginger skipper to the dark, enigmatic Consulting Detective.

Another, more recent time, he had heard a Sgt. Sally Donovan call Sherlock a freak. He had been hanging around the outside the morgue waiting for Molly to come out (he was dreadfully squeamish, but he managed to hold onto his stomach as long as he wasn't actually IN the mortuary. His time with Molly was always limited, him with his job and Molly with her near impossible working shifts) and that woman had come up to him and said he looked exactly like the freak, except he seemed a bit more mundane.

Martin didn't know whether to be insulted or relived.

But, right now, watching him prance around the room, hair dye on, looking like a mad scientist, Martin was rethinking his decision of ever stepping into 221B. He could have spent his whole life not knowing what was in that fridge. But now that he had…good Lord, the horror.

"Uh, Mr. Holmes?" Martin started tentatively, as Sherlock seemed to be intent on ransacking the fireplace for some reason, and he didn't really want to disturb him. Sherlock may have had his face, but he still unnerved him. John Watson had said not to worry about that, Sherlock unnerved everyone, but John wasn't here right now, was he?

"Sherlock?"

"Don't talk, I'm busy."

Martin attempted to put an imaginary lock on his mouth and tried to throw away the key, but he just couldn't. Could anyone really blame him? It wasn't everyday the world's only consulting detective decided to impersonate you, for whatever crazy reason.

"Sherlock, why are you going to be me for one night?" Martin groaned even as he said that, wishing he truly had Sherlock's way with words. Not to mention that way of raising his eyebrows. They had the same ones, but he still couldn't even imitate that!

Sherlock sighed, "I told you, I'm bored. I don't have any cases, the ones Scotland Yard are sending me are just tedious, so I think impersonating a simple-minded airline pilot who looks like me- saves a lot on the total make up- seems like a much better prospect. Oh, don't be like that. Nearly everybody is an idiot."

Martin sank his head into his hands and groaned audibly, Sherlock raised his eyebrows and asked, "Problem?"

Martin laughed nervously, "Yes, problem! I have a date with Molly tonight!"

"That's the point, idiot. What's the use of pretending to be you if I can't have a test subject?"

"A test subject-?"

"I want to see how far I can "be you" and fool everyone around as well as Dr. Hooper, who admittedly, is supposed to know you better that anyone in the immediate vicinity."

Martin tried to be angry, he really did. This was probably the last time he would see Molly for a while, Carolyn had scheduled a flight the very next day, and yet he couldn't bring himself to gather the courage to say no to Sherlock.

Sherlock noticed his inner-battle, "Okay, I'll make it up to you. After you come back, I'll pay for whatever "date" you two want to go on. Molly doesn't have to know, and everybody's happy."

Sherlock did not know what made him offer that, was he actually feeling guilty? No, no he wasn't, he assured himself. It wouldn't do for Martin Crieff to get cold feet halfway in the "experiment" and ruin the fun. He just needed some incentive to keep him in Baker Street for a few hours, just enough to satisfy his racing mind with the thrill of pretending to be someone else.

"And what if she figures out it's you?"

Sherlock snorted.

"Oh riiiight. You're Sherlock Holmes, nobody ever sees through your disguises."

"You might not be as stupid as I thought, Captain."

"Thank you…I guess. Just don't…you know…err….with Molly….ummm…"

"I take that back. You're a moron."

* * *

When Molly opened the door of her flat, Sherlock realized that she actually looked really nice. She was wearing a light blue dress that reached just below her knees and a beaming smile, not the self-deprecating one he usually saw on her.

He had almost forgotten that he was supposed to be Martin Crieff until she stood on her tip-toes and kissed his cheek. He inwardly cringed (he was not a big fan of physical contact and the only one who ever kissed him was Mrs. Hudson.) but managed to hide it pretty well.

"So, shall we go then?" Molly was saying, eyes searching his face for some reason.

"Oh, yes! The Blue Fox, I LOVE the food there…" Sherlock tripped on the stairs on purpose, just to make his Martin-act all the more believable. As if he had too, thought Sherlock smugly, he was a better Martin than Martin.

"So Sherlock, what's going on?" Molly said as soon as they sat down at their table. Sherlock, who had in the middle of one of those ramblings he had noticed was one of Martin's many ticks, stopped abruptly and stared, "What? I'm Martin, what do you…?"

"Sherlock," Molly said exasperatedly rubbing her temples, "Please, I know I'm not as intelligent as you-"

"Hardly anyone is." Sherlock said before he could stop himself. Molly silenced him with a look he didn't know the mousy pathologist was capable of.

"I'm pretty sure that I should be able to differentiate between you and my boyfriend, regardless of the hair color." She giggled, "Looks good on you, by the way."

"Ho-How, "oh great, NOW he could stammer, "How did you know it was me?"

Molly shrugged, "Oh, just your expression…" She turned the faintest pink, "When I kissed you. I noticed."

Sherlock groaned a bit on the inside. He had been so caught up in the thrill of being someone else, his mind enjoying the fact of _not being bored _that he missed Molly's signals. The way she hadn't called him by Martin during the journey, how she had seemed a bit confused, suspicious…He should've been more careful.

"So, why are _you_ my date tonight, _ginger-haired_ for that matter, and not Martin?"

Sherlock ran his hands through his hair, the carefully slicked now-ginger locks coming undone and regaining their soft curls, "I was bored." He said, grey-green eyes searching Molly's for any sign of anger. He knew she had a right to be.

Instead she sighed, "Only you, Sherlock. May we go back to Baker Street now? That's where Martin is, am I right?"

This wasn't what he had expected at all. It seemed there was more to Molly than just her being the mousy little pathologist at Bart's….Fascinating.

"So, you figured him out that quick?" Martin said as he walked her up to her flat, "I thought he was an expert at…"

"I think I have enough brains to figure out which one is Sherlock Holmes and which one is Martin Crieff...don't you?" She giggled as they paused outside her flat. They had had a really good date, after leaving a rather distracted Sherlock at Baker Street; Molly would have taken photos if it hadn't gone against her nature.

She flung her arms around his neck and forced Martin to stoop a bit, and breathed "Well, thank you for that lovely night." Martin blushed and stammered, "Oh…we…we wouldn't have had it if not for you. I should be thanking you."

Molly grabbed his lapels and dragged him down into the most passionate kiss they had ever shared. She moaned as his tongue tentatively explored her mouth and he pulled her closer. They had to surface for air too soon, and Molly's heart melted when Martin muttered "Wow.", resting his forehead against hers.

"I have to go;" Martin said regretfully, "The plane leaves at 7 am sharp tomorrow…"

Molly kissed him sweetly and pulled back, "Oh it's alright. I'll be here when you come back. Maybe…" She said flirtatiously, "We could do something more…fun."

She almost laughed out loud at Martin's adorably flustered expression.

* * *

John Watson came into Baker Street the next morning to find his dysfunctional flat mate lounging on the sofa, fingertips together in a prayer like position. John went to the kitchen, made tea, sat down in his favorite armchair and only then did he ask, "Did you know your hair's ginger?"

"Experiment."

John wished in some other life this cryptic reply would confuse him. But then again, that life would have been so boring, wouldn't it?

* * *

**Post Notes: And that's it! I couldn't let mean old Sherlock break up Molly and Martin, so…hehehe.**

**And this concludes our Martin\Molly round. Maybe the next chapter will contain some other poor crossover character that I will be more willing to torture…maybe.**

**Like it? Hate it? Please let me know!**

**Adi x**


	3. Bonus: The Pilot and the Pathologist

**The Pilot and the Pathologist**

**A\N: Ok, I lied. In my defense, I can only say that Martin and Molly as a couple is just an adorable notion, and I want to write more…a lot more.**

**Sadly, my brain isn't as nice, and I KNOW I should just continue with my original theme. So, take it as a bonus chapter of sorts. The day Sherlock met Martin. I know it isn't as great as what other fanfics theorized, but I tried.**

**As always, this is dedicated to my lovely muse, NoveraDeMedici, the Sherlock to my humble John.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Cabin Pressure or Sherlock and I'm immensely thankful for that. I would ruin them.**

* * *

Martin Crieff was rarely a happy man. How could he be happy when he lived in an attic flat with college students who had a penchant for dirty clothes, almost always behind on his debts and next to zero chances of ever having a girlfriend? The only time he was absolutely happy was when he was behind the captain's seat of GERTI, that too when Douglas had decided to shut his mouth _and_ he was winning the games they played. Which did not happen a lot.

But not today. Ever since he met that stunning, lovely, cute- Oh god he was rambling _again_-pathologist from Bart's, things were looking up. They had talked for ages that day at the coffee shop; she had scribbled down her number on a napkin and actually _given_ it to him. At first, he had been reluctant to call her, he had been done in so many times by so many women, but ultimately he reasoned that Dr. Molly Hooper, of St. Bart's simply did not seem like the type. So he called her, one thing led to another, they went on a date and things just…clicked.

And now he was on his way to meet her at work. His insides squirmed pleasantly at the thought. He never actually had a promise of a second date, let alone visits and just hang outs. Maybe his constant bout of bad luck was finally ending, and maybe he would finally be able to call Molly Hooper his girlfriend. Ha, take that Carolyn and Douglas and all those horrible people who thought he would never get one!

His train of thought stopped with a screech when he was right at the entrance of St Bart's. Wasn't Molly a _pathologist_? Didn't she work in a _morgue_? Martin blanched and froze. He was dreadfully squeamish, what if he had to meet with her in the morgue? He wasn't sure he could be able to handle his breakfast if he saw her cutting up a dead body, what if he threw up? That would be so…unattractive.

So, he opted for a safer route. He pulled out his phone and wrote a text-

**Sent 11 45 am**

_**Heyy I'm outside Bart's, are you in?**_

_**-Martin**_

**Received 11 47 am**

_**Oh thank God. I'm dreadfully bored. Come on up, I'm in the lab on the second floor.**_

_**-Molly x**_

He blushed at the 'x'.

**Sent 11 48 am**

_**No bodies? Not that I mind.**_

_**-Martin**_

**Received 11 49 am**

_**No, Martin, no bodies :P**_

_**-Molly x**_

Good lord, at this rate, he wouldn't have any blood left for the rest of his body.

* * *

He had barely neared the stairwell on the first floor when Molly came in to view, hopping down the last step in an adorably childish way. She smiled winningly; her hair in a side braid and looked stunning. He blushed again, thanking whatever being in the heavens above for his good fortune of literally bumping into this woman. He was not going to mess this one up, he promised himself.

She came closer and stood on tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek. Pressing a hand to touch his cheek, the spot where she kissed him tingling pleasantly, he said stupidly, "I…um…I…So,youwannagooutnow?" He groaned, mentally cursing himself.

Molly giggled, "I have a couple of paper works to complete. But it won't take long, want to wait ten minutes?"

He shook his head in negative (he did not trust himself to speak) and she took his hand (He hoped his palms wouldn't get sweaty) and led him upstairs.

His mouth moved of its own accord, "Molly…you look very sparkly today." Lord, sparkly? SPARKLY? It wasn't even a proper adjective! He wasn't describing that vampire guy from the movie that was currently running in the theatres!

Molly paused and then leaned in, kissing him again, still on the cheek, but close…_oh so close_…to his lips.

"You should stop distracting me, Captain Crieff." She whispered as she pulled away, "Otherwise, I might not be able to finish my work…or control myself."

Martin Crieff suddenly felt very _very_ hot.

* * *

Molly giggled to herself as she led Martin towards the labs. She liked him, very much. She could be herself around him, even a bit flirtatious. He didn't compliment her just because he needed something, or because he needed to get close to someone else. He was genuinely interested in her.

She felt a momentary twinge of guilt. She had been firstly attracted to him because of his unusual likeness of Sherlock Holmes. She waved away that thought. She wouldn't be dating him just because he looked like Sherlock Holmes. Martin Crieff was the polar opposite of the consulting detective; they only looked the same, albeit with the different hair colors. She liked Martin's kind personality, the adorable, fond look he made when he talked about his job. Martin made her laugh. Sherlock never made her laugh.

She brushed such thoughts aside, and pulled open the door. And then froze instantly. For bending over the microscope, _her_ microscope was Mr. Sherlock Holmes, impeccably dressed in a pristine suit and his purple shirt. Her mind barely registered John Watson's kind smile when he saw her. Sherlock looked up and said, "Hello, Molly." And that was when she heard a kind of choking sound behind her, and then the _whoosh_ of air as Martin fell into a dead faint.

And she was feeling so happy too.

* * *

Martin regained consciousness with his head feeling fuzzy and throbbing dully. There were two soft, thin hands cupping his cheeks and his head rested on something soft. There was another hand on his wrist, a much more calloused one, but gentle nonetheless.

"Don't worry, Molly, he's going to be fine." A male voice saying, "I think it was just shock. I admit I would faint if I ran into someone who looked exactly like me." The tone was joking.

Martin groaned involuntarily. Did he just faint in front of Molly? How stupid was that? His head was killing him now. And that man…the man who looked like him…the man with the shock of black hair…

"Martin? Martin, are you alright?" Molly was saying, and he realized that his head was on her lap.

"Really, Molly, he just fainted, stop worrying." Another male voice, a deeper one was saying, the tone flat as if he didn't care in the least.

"Sherlock." The first voice said in warning.

Martin opened his eyes. Molly's warm hazel ones met his green, and he realized that they were glazed with worry. He smiled reassuringly, trying to convey to her that he was alright. The only thing bruised was his ego, but his ego had been taking beating ever since Douglas became his First Officer…or was it when he became GERTI's captain?

She smiled back at him weakly and he made to stand up.

"Are you sure you're alright?" The man who had spoken first, a short stocky man wearing a woolen jumper and kind eyes was saying.

Martin nodded bravely and stood up from the floor, Molly joining him. "I…uh…sorry." He said apologetically to Molly. "It's okay, Martin. This is John Watson-"she indicated the man wearing the jumper, who smiled again, "And that's…Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes."

Sherlock Holmes, the great consulting detective. The one Arthur worshipped wholeheartedly. Oh, he was having a word with Arthur Shappey. Why hadn't he said that Sherlock was his doppelganger?

"It is possible you know," Sherlock was saying, interrupting his thoughts and giving him a penetrating look, "The likeness we have, it's possibly related to our genetic makeup , but frankly I don't have time to explain all that. Come on John."

He got up and swept from the room, a black-blue coat sweeping dramatically behind him.

"And that is as nice as he gets," John said apologetically, "Pleasure to meet you Martin. Bye, Molly." He shook Martin's hand and ran off after his companion.

As soon the door closed behind him, Molly came close and said in a soft tone, "I should have told you about Sherlock." "No, it's not your fault I'm a weak fainting idiot." He joked feebly, wishing for the ground to swallow him up.

Molly looked at his dejected, embarrassed face and her heart melted. "Martin…" She whispered, entering his personal bubble, "Let…me make it up to you."

Martin looked up from his 'wallowing in self-pity' routine and his eyes widened at her close proximity.

Her lips brushed his, just a light peck.

Molly pulled back, biting her lip. "I…err…" Martin's throat was suddenly really dry.

Her hands cupped his face again, "Can I kiss you again, Captain Crieff?" She said a mischievous glint in her eyes.

Martin gathered all his courage and before he could second guess anything, said, "Yes, please, Dr Hooper."

The devilish, absolutely un-Molly like grin on her face made him shiver pleasantly.

* * *

Interesting, Sherlock thought as he and John traveled in the cab towards Baker Street, that pilot. The likeness could come in handy. Maybe he could pretend to be Martin, when he was bored and he had no cases. He was always a brilliant actor, how many times had John said that his rendition of Frankenstein's monster, a part he sometimes performed for John and Mrs. Hudson when he was bored out of mind, should be on stage?

The seeds of a plan began to form in his ever racing mind.

* * *

**Post Notes: And that's it! I hope you like it, and to all those who reviewed, thank you so very much, it means a lot! And the _Frankenstein_ reference is absolutely intentional because I like pretending to be smart. **

**So, please, help an aspiring writer and review some more, will ya?**

**Much love**

**Adi x**


	4. Victor Trevor Part 1

**Victor Trevor Part 1**

**_A\N: Alright, I've been plagued by the dreaded writers' block. Also, I'm utterly lazy and good ideas elude me with a vengeance. I was originally going to make this a cross-over, as was my theme, but NoveraDeMedeci requested someone from the Sherlock canon. But who to pick? Lestrade and John had been already used by much greater writers' than me, so I perused my battered Sherlock Holmes book and found my victim-ahem, character. Anywho, on with the story!_**

**_Disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, BBC and the Grand Moff and Godtiss. I'm just…playing._**

* * *

John Watson, on being the flat mate and God help him, friend, of Sherlock Holmes, had long since been sure of a few things. Most of those things were regarding his dysfunctional flat mate. Such as, Sherlock was a self proclaimed "high-functioning sociopath", had little or no regard for social decorum and girlfriends (or boyfriends for that matter) were not his area. And, aside from John…and a select _select_ few, he had no friends. Certainly not ones that required to be picked up from the airport. Certainly not ones Sherlock would actually greet with a smile. And CERTAINLY not ones that looked as if they had stepped off the cover of a surfing magazine.

"I spent entirely too much time in Australia, I'm not usually this tan," the man-who-was-supposed-to-be-Sherlock's-friend said apologetically, taking John's hand in a bone cracking shake.

"I thought you were in the tea plantations of Terai, Victor, which is supposed to be in _India_." Sherlock drawled a faint scowl on his face. John threw him a warning look, something he had become accustomed to in the year he had lived with Sherlock. But Victor just laughed, "And you're as charming as ever, aren't you, Sherlock? Victor Trevor," he added to John, "Since this git wouldn't introduce me." He smiled good-naturedly, "So nice of Sherlock to finally find someone, I thought he was going to die a virgin."

Sherlock remained utterly unaffected, while John spluttered, choked on his own spit and repeated those well-rehearsed lines of I'm-not-gay-he-is-not-my-boyfriend-because-I'm-not-gay!

Victor raised his eyebrows. "Well…uh…this is a bit awkward…For your information Sherlock; I fancied a change of atmosphere. Australia seemed a nice place. But tell me about you! The famous Consulting Detective! Where's your deerstalker?"

John smirked; Sherlock's scowl became even more pronounced.

* * *

Victor Trevor, John learned, had been Sherlock's only friend in university. That too only because Victor's dog had closed his jaws around Sherlock's leg once when out on a walk. The resulting gash had required several stitches as well as a rabies vaccine. Victor had been kind enough to visit him while he was recuperating and seeing as they both had been friendless, on finding that they had a few things in common, they inexplicably became friends.

Then after an event Sherlock had dubbed, rather mocking John's blog titles, "The Adventure of The Gloria Scott" Victor had left for Terai, having been heartbroken at a revelation Sherlock had brought out about a scandal of his father's. Neither Sherlock nor Victor expounded on the subject, John upon realizing that it was a private matter and would cause Victor some discomfort, did not ask for anymore details.

Sherlock Holmes and Victor Trevor, for most terms, were polar opposites. Sherlock was cold, brooding and most of the time, made anybody unfortunate enough to be on the receiving end of his deductions want to punch him.

Victor was instantly likeable. He looked a lot younger than Sherlock, even though they were the same age; he was the type of guy most girls would throw themselves at. He had the classic good looks that were common among private school boys, with blonde wavy hair and twinkling eyes.

…John realized how gay that sounded and so as not to get any more of the insinuating comments, deleted the entry on his blog completely.

* * *

Victor, even though he had lodged in a hotel, spent most of his time at Baker Street. He wasn't going to stay in England for very long, and as such, wanted to spend as much time as possible with Sherlock, whom he hadn't seen in nearly 10 years. John was secretly very pleased at this; it meant that Sherlock had somebody else to steamroll over when he was in his 'bored!" fits and John could go out on dates without having the near constant fear of Sherlock gate crashing and then start talking about gruesome murders that usually made John's dates run off as fast as their heels could allow. John thought that Sherlock was rather enjoying this; Trevor was more indulgent than John and praised Sherlock at every demonstration of his powers.

Which is why it was a surprise when one night, after Victor had left and John was getting up to go to bed, Sherlock announced that he couldn't wait for Victor to be gone.

"How come? I thought you liked having him around." John asked, totally nonplussed.

"Yes, but so far, every time he accompanies me to Bart's or any crime scenes, he flirts with Molly and Donovan. It's getting annoying."

John hid a smile, "Then don't take him with you."

Sherlock smiled sardonically, "I like company when I go out, and since you won't stop your _dalliances_ with Miss Morstan, Victor's the only person who is willing to go with me." He suddenly gave John a very smug grin, "Though it's a very temporary situation, I know you'll be back with me as soon as Victor's gone. You're just using him as an excuse to not to."

John ignored the jab; trying to take pleasure in the fact that Sherlock had not yet deleted Mary's name from his hard-drive. "So, why does it bother you that Victor's flirting with Molly or Donovan?"

"Donovan, I don't care, she's already an incompetent fool. But Victor's constant compliments and coffee breaks with MY pathologist are seriously hampering my use of the Bart's lab."

"YOUR pathologist?" John asked wide-eyed, "Since when is Molly YOUR pathologist?"

Sherlock was as clueless as ever, "She is reasonably talented, much more competent than those bumbling quacks and she's the only pathologist at Bart's I can work with. So, of course she's my pathologist."

John rolled his eyes, only Sherlock would find a girl worth his time when she let him take body parts home…or when she walked around naked in front of him (John shuddered inwardly at the memory).

Sherlock joined his hands at the fingertips. "Dilated pupils suggest that Victor is more attracted to Molly. Molly in any sort of relationship is very inconvenient; her work performance degrades at an alarming rate-"

"No, it doesn't." John snapped.

"Well, she isn't as helpful to me, which is what I care about. I need to nip this problem in the bud."

"Sherlock…what the bloody hell are you on about?"

Sherlock looked up at John at his tone, " Hmmm? Wasn't I very clear at what I meant?"

"NO! If you mean what I think you mean, oh Sherlock, Molly won't ever forgive you. So, just let the girl be happy for once, Sherlock…Sherlock are you even listening to me?"

"No. You're getting boring."

John refrained from throwing the Strad, which was within his reach, at Sherlock's head.

* * *

**_Note- the second chapter will be up soon, the holidays are in progress. But sometimes my brain is very mean to me. Kick my writers' block in the ass and please review? It ups my confidence more than you realize!_**

**_Much love,_**

**_Adi x_**


	5. Victor Trevor Part 2

Victor Trevor Part 2

_A/N: Well, here you are. Another chapter of "How to Keep Your Pathologist" posted more quickly than usual because I love this fandom with its wonderful, intelligent fans who encourage me every step of the way! I hope you like this chapter too, it's a lot longer than usual…And I like it a bit. looks around nervously_

_Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock. ACD, Godtiss and the Grand Moff do and are doing a more than awesome job of it. I want series 3 now, though._

* * *

"Sherlock," John called from the kitchen that morning, while Sherlock bustled about putting on his coat getting ready to go out for a new case; Victor had already gone down to hail a cab, "Look, the things you said to me last night, remember those?"

"Yes, sorry, got to dash, Lestrade…case…"

"Hang on, you git and listen to me. NOW."

"What?" Sherlock said, not even bothering to hide his irritation and impatience.

"I know this case might possibly take you to the morgue, and I want you to promise me…"

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"PROMISE me that you will not do or say anything that will hurt Molly or Victor. Specifically Molly. Do you understand?"

Sherlock's face assumed a guilty countenance for a brief while before he pouted, "I don't see why you cannot come with me. You enjoy being my blogger."

Now it was John's turn to look guilty, "Yeah, I do, but Mary's looking for a new place to stay and I- hey, you can't change the subject here, Sherlock." John grabbed Sherlock's arm as he turned to go and squeezed it tightly. Sherlock winced.

"Promise me, Sherlock, you'll be nice to Molly. She deserves to be happy and Victor is good for her."

Sherlock sighed dramatically and John's suspicions arose rapidly, "Doctor's orders, I suppose."

And he left the living room before John could utter a single word more or grab his arm in an another vice-grip.

* * *

"Freak's here- Oh hello, Victor." Donovan's usual scowl made way to a broad smile and, Sherlock noted with disgust, dilated pupils. "You still are hanging out with this oddball?"

Victor gave a winning smile, "Yeah, college buddies, ya know? Gotta make every moment count!"

Sherlock felt a momentary rush of triumph; Victor's body language proved that he was no longer attracted to Sgt. Donovan, ergo his deduction was right. Now, Sherlock thought viciously, to make Molly unattractive…

"Where's Detective Inspector Lestrade?" he asked now. Donovan faced him with her trademark distaste, "He's busy. You're only here because he managed to convince DI Hopkins of your _worth._"

Sherlock's lip curled. A new DI meant so much more incompetence, and he wasn't really in the mood for explaining every single one of his deductions. Lestrade was competent because he followed his every word and order like gospel. There was no guarantee Hopkins would have the same temperament.

His suspicions were absolutely right (as expected). When he and Victor entered the room, Hopkins (badge; general bearing of confidence notified Sherlock that this was the DI) was in deep discussion with Anderson of all people. This information though, made a very insignificant impact on his ever racing mind; he was too wrapped up in the delightfully grotesque body which lay by the fireplace.

The face of Eustace Brackenstall had been twisted into a horrid countenance of pure terror, as if death had come in the most fearful way possible. Judging by the way the back of his head was bashed in…it probably had.

Sherlock barely heard Hopkins's polite "Ahem?"

Victor piped up, "I am sorry, he isn't one for introductions, busy man that he is. He's Sherlock Holmes and I'm-"

"Dr. John Watson, I presume? I'm a big fan of your blog, and when Greg suggested you two I absolutely jumped-"

"Uh…no, sorry. I'm Victor Trevor, actually. John was-err…detained today."

Hopkins deflated almost comically, "Oh…Well, pleasure to meet you, Mr. Trevor. I'm DI Stanley Hopkins and if there's anything I could do to help-"

Anderson's derisive snort was lost by Sherlock's baritone voice ringing out coldly, "A little silence now would be marvelous. Anderson, please get out, you put me off, as previously stated."

Hopkins's spluttered out, "But Anderson's forensics! We need him here!"

"What for? John's here-" Sherlock stopped suddenly. Victor's smile faltered a bit, before he was chipper again.

"Actually Sherlock, this time I might be able to help. The man died of apoplexy. must've gotten quite a fright. He must've fallen right on the poker."

Sherlock frowned, and then turned his gaze back to the body. And then his mood turned absolutely sour when he realized Victor was absolutely right. "How did you know that?"

"My father died of apoplexy, surely you remember that Sherlock." Victor said in a hurt tone.

"I don't know why you were friends with the psychopath in the first place, Vic."

Annoyed that Anderson had called Victor "Vic" as well as him a 'psychopath' (how many times must he tell him to do his research?) Sherlock burst out into a swift round of deductions regarding Anderson, his wife and how he was generally an idiotic failure which made Anderson go pale as granite then run out of the room trying to control his tears; while Hopkins and Victor were mightily impressed.

Sherlock's sour mood remained for the entirety of the investigation.

* * *

"So, where are we going now?" Victor asked when they were ensconced in a cab whose cabbie seemed to have gotten quite taken with Victor. Trying to ignore the covetous looks the cabbie was giving him from the rear-view mirror, Victor went on, "The case is solved, and by the way, that was quite impressive, the way you scared so much she needed to breathe into a paper bag."

Sherlock snorted, "I was trying to speed up her confession. It's terribly frustrating that Scotland Yard still cannot solve such ridiculous cases without my help. I regret coming out of the flat in the first place. This case was distinctly a six."

"Six?" Victor asked, puzzled.

"John and I code our cases. If it's more than seven, I leave the flat. If not, I either send John to gather the relevant data or solve the case from the flat- yes they are that ridiculously simple- thereby eliminating any need for me to step out and be hounded by the pestering reporters."

"John…He's a very interesting bloke." Victor said, smiling, "I'm glad he's your flatmate, he keeps you on the ground. Yes he does, don't deny it-" Sherlock had scoffed, "To be honest, I'm a bit ashamed, I left you to the mercies of those bastards Wilkes and Musgrave."

Sherlock looked out the window, anywhere but Victor's genuinely regretful face, "I was never at anybody's mercy."

Victor smiled sadly before changing the subject, "So where are we going?"

"Bart's. I need to study some cultures I have been experimenting on since last week."

"Bart's?" Victor's tone brightened so alarmingly quickly that Sherlock actually cricked his neck when he turned to look at him, "Will that lovely pathologist be there? Molly?"

" is scheduled to be there. I might require the use of her lab-"

"I think I'll ask her out properly this time. Yeah, I think I will."

"Victor," Sherlock took a deep breath and began. Normally, he wouldn't be this considerate, but he owed a bit to Victor, "I require 's help. It's terribly inconvenient if you 'ask her out'."

Victor's eyebrows rose, "Inconvenient? Sherlock, you said that you needed the lab! Not Molly! And heaven's above, did Sherlock bloody Holmes just say that he requires _help_?"

Sherlock frowned, "Well, not _necessarily_. But it's still inconvenient. Dr Hooper is-"

" Dr Hooper is a perfectly lovely woman and I intend to ask her to dinner."

Sherlock felt suddenly very _annoyed _at Victor's use of the term _ask her to dinner_. It brought to memory of all of the innuendoes Irene Adler had applied to him- innuendoes John had been kind enough to explain to him, albeit with a lot of irritating giggles and poking at Sherlock's 'spectacular ignorance'.

He did not retort at Victor's statement; opting to instead to nurture the seeds of the plan which had already been planted at a small corner of his mind palace. He didn't hear Victor saying softly, "Molly Hooper. Such a lovely name."

The cabbie did, however. He seemed most disappointed.

* * *

Molly Hooper's day was not going very well. One of the interns had, during a post-mortem, panicked; mis-cutting horrendously and sending the bowel contents of a sixty year old man to be splattered all over her scrubs. She had changed and showered twice, yet she could still smell the underlying stink no amount of floral perfume seemed to hide.

Her hair was not cooperating and kept falling all over her face instead of her usual sleek ponytail.

Her mother had called (during work hours!) and told her off for still remaining single at the age of thirty-one.

She had just opened a file she spent hours on working last night only to find it clawed upon ( she really shouldn't have left that lying around with Toby on the loose).

Right now, all Molly Hooper really wanted to do was go home, dump two litres of lemon juice over her head; crawl into bed with Toby and sleep every frustration off.

Yet, she couldn't. Three more post-mortems awaited her; she didn't feel like lifting her aching head off her desk and getting to work.

Just when Molly thought this day couldn't get any worse, who else to stride in than Sherlock Holmes, looking as he always did with his tight, expensive shirts and suits that he had just stepped off the catwalk. (Molly giggled involuntarily; the thought of Sherlock on a catwalk wearing black, posh nightgowns and pajamas while smoking a cigar had recently become her favourite daydream) And who else to accompany him? The other man who looked like a surfer, who had been coming in place of John for the last week; who kept bringing her coffee and giving her sweet smiles. She didn't mind though, someone bringing her coffee was a nice change, seeing as she spent half the time Sherlock was there bringing _him_ coffee.

Sherlock was scrutinizing her, taking in her disheveled appearance and she knew that he had deduced everything single bad thing that happened to her that morning. She didn't know how he would deduce that she had another row with her mother, but she knew that he just…_knew._

"Your cultures are in that cabinet, as requested." She knew what he was here for, and frankly she was just too tired to fall back into Mousy Molly and bumble through her usual, often ignored, attempts at small talk.

Sherlock raised his eyebrows but headed towards the cabinet. "Bad day, was it, Dr. Hooper?"

Victor asked, smiling down at her. She smiled wanly back, "Hello Victor. Nice to see you again."

"Oh yes, Mr. Consulting Detective likes company when on duty and I'm tagging along. John is taking a break."

"I know. Mary's ecstatic." She giggled, "She told me to tell you to move to England. She likes having her boyfriend to herself."

Victor chuckled. "Well, I need a lot of incentive to stay in London, you see."

Victor's significant glance made Molly blush to the roots of her hair. What, running around with Sherlock isn't enough?"

"It's not _quite _enough incentive…And I don't think John Watson would appreciate me stealing his job."

"And what, Mr. Trevor, is _enough_ incentive?" Molly said playfully. Was she actually _flirting_ with this guy? This guy was the very type that she used to be teased, ignored and generally dumped by. She had given up on the athletic types by the time she reached seventeen. Molly Hooper valued brains more than physique, but there was no harm in a little fun, was there? This guy was interested in her, she could tell; she hadn't been around Sherlock Holmes for nothing.

"Have dinner with me tonight, Molly." Victor's voice had suddenly deepened an octave. Molly blushed again, as her insides twisted. Had it really been that long since she had a real date (she refused to acknowledge Jim Moriarty)? She had just opened her mouth to answer in affirmative when a Petri dish flew across the room and smashed into a thousand pieces against the wall.

"SHERLOCK!" Victor shouted, partly from surprise and partly from anger; nothing had killed the mood he had so painstakingly managed to create in this _sterile_ environment faster.

"Oh no, do go on with your blatant flirting, which is extremely inappropriate when there is someone else in the room-"

"Sherlock, why did you just break one of MY Petri dishes?" Molly questioned, struggling to keep the anger from her voice.

"The whole experiment has gone wrong, I had assumed that the concentration of glucose was accurate; now this has been contaminated. That dish would have ruined the others if I hadn't gotten rid of it."

"And you decided to get rid of it by flinging it across the room…?"

Sherlock looked at her blankly. Molly's head throbbed with renewed intensity. She had forgotten: Sherlock Holmes was such a man-child sometimes.

* * *

That had been a perfectly good slide that he had destroyed. But Victor and Molly's conversation had reached the danger levels, and if he hadn't done anything to stop it, he would be looking at a weepy, uncooperative Molly by the time Victor left- possibly a week from now. The prospect did not bear thought.

Victor was his…college friend, as John would put him. But he knew what Victor was like. Molly had only attracted his attention for the time being; he was more confident than John in regards with women and could charm anyone- female or male. His plan needed to be put into action immediately; but living with John had taught him a bit about timing.

His plan needed to be used at the right moment for a grand effect. But that didn't mean he couldn't try a coarse method: though he knew it wouldn't work.

"Molly, I need your help tonight."

Victor scowled darkly, but Molly looked confused, "Um…I'm sorry, what?"

"The Brackenstall body should be sent here for the post-mortem, I would like to examine it afterwards."

Molly consulted her list, "He's on my list, but why do you need to examine him?"

"Yes, Sherlock," Victor asked sarcastically, "We just solved the case. Why do you need to examine him?"

"Data, Jo-Victor, data. One cannot ever stop one's education."

"I…I…" Molly began.

"Molly, don't you want to have dinner with me?" Victor said quickly, but still managing to ooze charm. Sherlock, not to outdone, put on his most pitiable smile and widened his eyes for effect, "Molly…I could really use your help."

Victor glared at Sherlock over Molly's head, the same way he used to when Sherlock kept on correcting their lecturers in university and calling them morons.

Molly sighed. She really wanted to help Sherlock; she loved that feeling when she got to be alone with him for hours at a time, the feeling of _doing something to help others. _But honestly, she felt that she deserved a night-out with Victor. She wasn't getting any younger, and she was badly in need of a break. Sherlock saw her decision in her eyes and was already formulating the last stages of his plan before Molly even began speaking. "Actually Victor, I think dinner would be lovely. I'm sorry Sherlock, but maybe I could tell Perkins-"

Sherlock turned on his heel and stalked out, his coat flapping dramatically behind him.

Victor sighed, "He's like that when he doesn't get what he wants, Molly-"

"Oh I know." Molly smiled weakly.

"Well, shall I pick you up tonight? When does your shift end?"

* * *

Molly tried checking her reflection on the metal lab table before giving it up as a bad job. This was a bit new, someone picking her up from her job. She had, after her last autopsy, hurried home to change before rushing back to finish the paperwork.

She dared to think she looked nice though, wearing the midnight blue blouse her much more fashion conscious mother had given her for Christmas. And she had worn her jeans that hugged her curves flatteringly, instead of the baggy work trousers she normally wore.

She had just finished writing the transcript for the Abbott case when the doors where flung open violently and Molly jumped up.

She had thought for a split second that it would be Victor but her heart almost stopped when she saw Sherlock Holmes stride in like he owned the place.

She swallowed, "She-Sherlock, I have a date with Victor now, I can't help you toni-"

Sherlock had closed the distance between them quickly, and wrapping his long arms around her hips, crushed her to him, mouths colliding.

Molly winced in pain, before she froze up; realizing who the hell was currently moving his lips experimentally against hers.

She had always assumed (and spent a fantastic amount of time daydreaming about) that Sherlock would be assured and precise in his kisses. This was the very antithesis of her fantasy; Sherlock was obviously very inexperienced, his kisses were enthusiastic and messy. And yet, she was floating in pleasure, something to do with the fact that Sherlock Holmes was lapping his tongue against her lips and she opened for him easily. Some bit of her mind still sensible was yelling something…something that would have made sense if she still had coherence.

Sherlock's tongue tangled with hers and all thoughts were lost. Her fingers dug into his curls, nails scratching his scalp and he groaned deep in his throat and pulled her closer.

They were both breathing very heavily as he suddenly pulled back,

"Oh, don't stop on my account." Came a cold voice from the door.

Sherlock instantly wrenched himself away from Molly, leaving her dazed and wondering about the sudden loss of warmth.

"Oh, Victor, hello." Sherlock said, in a cheery tone. Molly flinched, head clearing instantly. She blinked, and then looked at Victor, standing at the doorway, a mixture of hurt and anger on his face.

"Victor…I…" What the hell was she supposed to say? She had no idea what had just happened herself!

"Don't bother, Molly. I should've known. Sherlock Holmes doesn't like sharing."

He threw Sherlock a look before forcing a weak smile at Molly, "Well…see you around."

And he was gone.

"That takes care of that." Sherlock said in a smug tone, "I can work properly again."

"Sherlock…did you just do _that_ just to-"

"You being in any relationship is horrendously inconvenient, you aren't as helpful to me with your constant datesand what not. Victor would have been gone in a few days and then how would I be able to work properly when he terminated your relationship and you became _distracted_? For future reference Molly, I suggest that you should frankly stop looking for a relationship. Now, be a good pathologist and wheel out Brackenstall for me- _ARGH! What the hell was that for?"_

Molly had chucked the contents of her half-drunk still rather warm mug of coffee at him. She hadn't even bothered to think; she wasn't just angry, she was furious. Blood was boiling and at this moment, she had squashed the Molly that was smitten with Sherlock and replaced her with the confident, independent woman she was at heart. And that Molly was not…amused.

"Sherlock Holmes...**_Get out of my_** _**lab**_**.**"

* * *

John leaned back on his favorite arm chair, smiling like a cat that got the cream at his flat mate, who was sprawled on the sofa.

"I told you so, Sherlock."

"And that gives you such immense pleasure, doesn't it?" Sherlock drawled, the image of Molly Hooper, furious and her eyes blazing, had been burned into his brain and it was fascinating him a lot more that he would ever admit…even to himself.

"Immensely. Now, you might want to take that shirt to the drycleaners; the coffee might stain permanently."

"Go away."

"And wipe that lipstick off your mouth."

John burst out laughing when a throw cushion collided with his face, and he saw that Sherlock was busy wiping his mouth furiously with his sleeve; a flush appearing on his cheekbones.

* * *

Post Notes: _Lots of thanks to all those who put this on alert and to my lovely reviewers—__**Jenna Yemowa, Moriarty-Florence-Moriarty, Nocturnias, elfigreen14, Zora Arian and MadAsAHatterJayy!**_

_Also to the Sherlock to my John, **NoveraDeMedeci** for being the only person I know who joins me for a "Cumberbatch Day/ Cumberfest" and helping me with this story._

_Also to my two best friends, who don't read this story, aren't crazy for Sherlock and Benedict Cumberbatch but still make my life brighter just by being in it! _

_Now, who would you like Molly to date/ attempt to date next? I have an idea in the works but I would love to hear your thoughts! So, leave a review, pwetty pwease? *Sherlock puppy face*_

_Much Love,_

_Adi x_


	6. John Watson

John Watson

_A\N: I got such a lovely response to the last chapter! I hope this one is up to your liking!_

* * *

To say Molly Hooper was pissed at a certain Consulting Detective would have been an understatement. The usually mousy and easygoing pathologist who gave starry-eyed looks at Sherlock Holmes every time he was at the hospital had been replaced by a fierce, assertive woman who seemed to derive some sort of sick pleasure in being as indifferent as possible towards him.

John knew that Molly had a very good reason for the less-than-hospitable behavior she was currently showcasing towards Sherlock; he suspected that Sherlock knew that himself. And yet, the egotistical moron had yet to apologize sincerely.

John had sat Sherlock down that very night-when Sherlock came home drenched in what looked like coffee and lips smudged with lipstick. Told (requested, urged, more or less commanded) him to apologize. One did not need to be a detective to deduce what had happened. As such, Victor had called half an hour later, telling John that he urgently needed to return to Australia and left Sherlock a message saying that he wasn't holding anything against him, he knew how territorial Sherlock was and hoped to see him again.

No matter what Sherlock-and Mycroft- thought, John wasn't Sherlock's keeper, he wasn't responsible for what Sherlock did. But he did care for Molly, and Sherlock, despite his insistence that he did not care one way or another, required Molly's help for his cases. No other pathologist at Bart's was so keen on Sherlock they let him use the lab anyway he wished or let him take away body parts from fresh corpses.

He hadn't realized how much Sherlock (however internally) appreciated Molly's help when a few days later, when Sherlock the sleuth-hound had been hot on a case, had come bursting into Bart's morgue, demanding to see the body of Jonathan Phillmore, only to be greeted by a sixty year old Dr Richardson, who would not, on any account, let him see a body whose paperwork had already been gone through without an official I.D. And no, he did not believe that Sherlock was D.I Lestrade, he knew who Sherlock was…from John's blog. That did nothing to improve Sherlock's temper.

Sherlock seldom got into rages. He was prone to tantrums, could get severely annoyed, be condescending to everyone who did not appreciate his genius. But never full on rage. Sherlock had stomped off at top speed to Molly's office; John having to jog to keep up with him, called Molly childish, told her that she would be responsible if he was unable to solve the case because he didn't have sufficient data. Molly had calmly ignored his tirade, smiled indulgently at John, before getting up and telling Sherlock…in oh so polite tones, that Dr Richardson was responsible for the Phillmore case, and she would do nothing to help him.

John never respected Molly Hooper more.

Sherlock had stormed back to Baker Street and within seconds the entire flat had looked as if a hurricane had passed through.

So it was up to John Watson to stop the bloodshed. Soothe things over with Molly himself, since Sherlock was too much of an idiot to do it. At the very least, if Sherlock was able to access Bart's properly again, 221B wouldn't take so much of a beating. John was pretty sure Mrs. Hudson would have kicked them out if she had been around when Sherlock had his shooting practice. On a morbidly happier note, the older yellow smiley now had a companion.

* * *

Molly scowled as soon as she saw John standing outside of Bart's. She liked Dr Watson a lot, and Mary was dating him, but at that moment, John being there meant that Sherlock would be there- somewhere- and she really was too tired to be angry.

John turned to look at her and smiled that smile of his that made you forgive anything he may have done. And the utter sincerity of it melted her heart; she really was a bit jealous of Mary. "Molly," He said warmly, "Going home?"

"Where's Sherlock?"

John sighed, "I swear, I'm here on my own. Sir Dick-a-lot is at home possibly blowing something up."

Molly giggled against her will, "Then why are you here on your own? I didn't know Mary was still working-"

"Oh no, actually, I was hoping to take you out to dinner. Just as friends," He said quickly, spotting the look on Molly's face, "Mary was supposed to come with us, but her workload suddenly increased. And I thought it would do us both good, meeting somewhere that doesn't have Sherlock breathing down our necks."

Molly took his outstretched hand and walked along, "Is this some sort of technique to get back on my good books?" She joked.

John seemed to think for a moment, "Actually, I think you have every right to stay mad at Sherlock. But as I am his best friend, I think I could at least try to apologize for his typical boorish behavior…and stop the bloodshed."

Molly gaped, "I'm so sorry, John! I've been a prick too, I…I…"

"Molly, I don't blame you. At ALL." John said, calmly, "He was a dick and he deserved what he got. Frankly, I admire this side of you."

Molly blushed with an odd sense of pride.

* * *

"And then he goes off on how it would so _inconvenient _if I got into a relationship with Victor; how inconvenient it would be for _him?_! I mean, really, couldn't he have just told me that instead of giving me a snog?"

John listened to Molly rave with gusto, a bemused smile tugging at his lips. This was another new form of Molly. Possibly one not many were privy to.

"He _kissed_ me John!" John jumped a bit as she slammed the table top (the bartender glared pointedly at John) "He bloody kissed me! As if he doesn't know how I feel about him-"

"Molly, I doubt he knows that."

"What?"

"You said it yourself. Sherlock's a bloody seven year old in an adult's body. There isn't any room in his 'hard drive' for social situations. He has no idea how to speak to a woman who isn't related to any homicide or crime. I thought maybe with Irene-"

"Who's Irene?" Molly said sharply.

John choked suddenly into his beer, "Did I say Irene? I…err…Chips, Moll?"

Molly grabbed his hand and spoke urgently, "Tell me who Irene is."

John sighed, "Irene Adler. She-"

To his utter surprise, Molly's hands flew to her mouth, "The woman whom Sherlock knew…by…um…not her face?"

He suddenly had an urge to draw Molly into his arms and hold her tight. Her eyes showed her hurt as she made the (rather incorrect) assumption.

"Molly…I…"

She shook her head violently and then- "He must've been very…" she swallowed, "She was so bashed up…"

John nodded, deciding internally not to tell Molly the entire story. It really wasn't his story to tell anyway, and it would only serve to hurt her more.

She changed the subject quickly, grasping onto the topic of John's impending marriage to Mary. This particular topic had John blushing adorably at the ears and had the added effect of making Molly forget about Irene Adler for the time being.

* * *

"I would say this, John Watson, Mary Morstan is a very lucky woman." Molly giggled as they traipsed up the stairs to her flat, flushed with wine and good spirits.

"Well, Molly Hooper, I consider myself very very VERY lucky to find a woman such as your best friend."

"Want to come up for tea?" Molly asked, as they neared her flat.

"Ooh, sounds lovely." John said. Neither of them noticed the dark shape sitting in front of Molly's darkened doorstep until they came much closer and said dark shape got up and gave a snort of derision.

Molly jumped and squealed, while John swore before yelling "What the bloody hell, Sherlock?"

"How long have you been there, Sherlock?" Molly asked, not really wanting the reply.

Sherlock glared, "I have been waiting for your shift to be over, Dr Hooper, and you come home at the middle of the night?"

"Since when are you enacting her curfew, Sherlock?" John snapped, "I took her out tonight. Now-"

"Sherlock, please explain what you are really doing here." Molly said in barely contained tones.

"I got you flowers." Sherlock said impassively.

"YOU WHAT?" John's eyeballs nearly popped out of his head. Molly's mouth hung open.

Sherlock said impatiently, "Must we all stand around in this dingy hallway? Molly, I just waited for you for 2 hours, I'm not a man who knows much about social decorum…but doesn't courtesy require you to invite me to your homestead?"

Molly fumbled with the lock, trying not to think that Sherlock had brought her flowers (yellow tulips by the look of the bouquet) and requested to come inside her home. Sure, John being there made it a lot less romantic…

Once inside, Sherlock thrust the bouquet in her general direction in a rather undignified manner. And that…kind of ground all thoughts of romance to dust (wait…wasn't John still there? So why was she thinking…argh, she had had too much to drink…).

"Um…Thank you, I guess."

"Apparently, chucking flowers can be an act of apology, according to the great Sherlock Holmes," John said, glaring at the way Sherlock had shoved the flowers at her, "Now apologize properly, Sherlock."

Sherlock threw John a dirty look before turning to Molly, who had to bite her cheek to keep from grinning, "I'm sorry."

"Like you mean it, Sherlock."

Sherlock growled at the back of his throat, before saying again, "I'm truly sorry, Molly, I didn't-"

"Now really mean it, Sherlock."

Oh this was so good! Molly didn't think she had ever experienced something so utterly…ridiculous. She should really have taped this…

Sherlock had had enough. "John, I'm not a child, you don't have to treat me like this. I just said I'm sorry, what more can you possibly want?"

"It's not what I want, you big prick! Apologize to Molly!"

"I just did!"

"Boys, boys!" She should really stop this, it was childish and frankly, a bit unattractive. "Sherlock, I forgive you, okay? There, done. Thank you for the flowers."

Sherlock looked smugly at John before gracing Molly a smile, "So, may I come work at Bart's again?"

John rolled his eyes, but Molly giggled, "Yes, you may, Sherlock."

"Well, we won't intrude on your hospitality any longer Molly," John said easily, "Maybe we can have tea some other time, yeah? I need to get this ass home before he decides to run off to Bart's right now."

Molly hugged him, "Thanks for the sympathy, John."

John flushed red again, and giving Sherlock a significant look, he went out of the flat.

Sherlock was halfway out the door before she plucked up the courage, "Um…Sherlock?"

He turned around to face her, "Yes?"

She stood on her tiptoes and gave him a light peck on the lips, "Thank you…for the flowers."

As expected, Sherlock stiffened and looked thoroughly uncomfortable. Molly now utterly embarrassed and ranting inwardly about the fact that Sherlock was such a control freak, even when kissing, made to close the door when Sherlock's face softened, and had Molly spellbound again.

He looked utterly charming when he smiled.

"You're welcome, Molly Hooper."

* * *

"I leave you be for five measly minutes and you manage to get lipstick on your face again? I mean, HOW? Wait, don't tell me. Possibly the cheekbone charm working again."

"Again, your way with words astounds me, John."

* * *

_A/N: Thank you to everyone who put this on alert, faved and as always, much love to all those who reviewed- **MadAsAHatterJayy, Queen morgan la fay, Sonic Bananas Are Cool, MorbidbyDefault, Nocturnias,elfigreen14, chocolate queen, Zora Arian **and** the anonymous reviewers**! You guys are my bread and butter!_

_And the customary shoutout to the Sherlock to my John, **NoveraDeMedici**, the one who has brilliant ideas and fuels my brilliant ideas as well. Novera, love, you and I are crazy as shit. Just wanted to let you know._

_Well…I…uh…So what do you think? I sincerely hope I didn't disappoint! Also, thank you to all those who suggested who Molly's next date should be! Let's hope I can do them justice!_

_So, leave a review? *pwease?* _

_Love,_

_Adi x_


	7. The Actor

_The Actor_

_A/N: So sorry for the long wait! And this chapter is possibly short and a bit transitional, but I promise the next chapter will be up sooner now that I have a definite plot going on! And a whole lotta love to NoveraDeMedeci for being my muse and my Sherlock. Sweety, this John loves you._

_Disclaimer: Don't own any of this. I wish I did. _

* * *

John looked in awe across the room at the man currently occupying his arm-chair. This was the man whose face graced every poster at the cinema; his movie smashing every box office record.

John had seen him be an army officer, an evil megalomaniac etc. Maybe he was expecting something more than the somewhat nervous man in rather rumpled clothes with the bashful smile, grey eyes and cheekbones that could rival Sherlock's.

"You see Mr. Holmes," Tom Hutchinson said in that famous voice of his, Sherlock looked at him lazily from where he was sprawled on his sofa, "The next movie I'm starring in…I play a private detective, so I was hoping to get a few notes-"

"I'm not a private detective, according to John the police don't go to them. I'm a consulting detective, the only one in the world." Sherlock drawled.

"Yes, I meant that-"

"No you didn't."

"Sherlock." John warned.

"I…uh…"

"Carry on, Mr. Hutchinson, you are being _fascinating,_ how can I be of service?" Sherlock's sarcasm was lost on no one, but Tom ploughed on, determined.

"As I was saying, I'm playing a pri-_consulting_ detective; I would like to get a few notes on how to think like one. The producer wanted me to go to Scotland Yard and ask any old D.I, but since YOU are such a brilliant and famous detective of your own right, I thought it would be best if I got information from one of our generation's iconic crime-solvers."

John did not even attempt to hide his smirk. Sherlock would not refuse now; he was more susceptible to flattery than a teenage girl.

"Tell me, Mr. Hutchinson, why have you come all the way here to tell me a pack of lies?"

John gaped.

Tom Hutchinson bolted upright, both hands clenching the arm-rests.

"What- I'm afraid I don't follow…"

"If you were only here for _research_ as you put it, you would have said so in the e-mail you sent and I would have refused pointblank. However, the time you wrote it, you were reasonably distressed-several typos, you wrote it yourself, not your secretary- and did not specify except express the utmost importance. But something or most probably _someone_ changed your mind by the time you got here. You are still in two minds about it, that's why you are here. You changed your mind the moment you sat down; hence making up that pack of lies in an attempt to cover up the real reason for your visit_._ Now, tell me the truth and don't be boring-" Sherlock caught John's glare "-please."

The actor looked at him awestruck, but did not ask about Sherlock's deduction trail. He took a shuddering deep breath and launched into a narrative, "My producer thinks it will be for the best if it's kept hush-hush. The police seem to think it is a simple robbery case, but I…" He trailed off, noticing that Sherlock's head was stooped and his eyes half closed.

"Carry on, Mr. Hutchinson, he's listening." John said kindly, more than used to Sherlock's unusual thinking position.

"…Well, anyway, I cannot rest easy knowing someone is dead because he tried defending my property. I mean, I know it's rather valuable, but there were more valuable things in that safe, and none worth killing someone over. Also, the safe has been broken into a couple of times, which was why Alex was employed in the first place. And now he's dead defending those stupid coins, they killed him but didn't manage to steal those."

"What coins are they?" John asked curious.

With a sigh, Tom reached into his nondescript duffel bag and drew out a medium sized drawstring pouch, then poured out twelve of the most beautiful golden coins John had ever seen (well, this was the first time he had ever seen anything like the coins, but anyway). "These are the gold Zodiac coins of the Mughal emperor Jahangir." He handed one to John- the Zodiac Cancer, the sign engraved into both the faces of the coin- "I bought them from an auction a month ago, and now I wish I hadn't. Since that month, there had been two break-ins into my house, and now a murder. All for these coins!"

"How do you know that it's for these coins?" Sherlock asked in a monotonous drawl.

"Like I said, the break-ins started ever since I bought these, their casket has been the one that had been tried to force open, the other valuables next to them totally untouched."

"Hmm…What's the name of your security guard?"

"Alexius Beppo."

"I'll take the case."

Before John or Tom could say anything, Sherlock had bounded up, grabbed his phone and dialed a number.

"Ah, Molly! Do you have an Alexius Beppo on your list?...Yes, that's him. Could you wheel him out for me? I'll be there…Cancel it, have lunch with me…Please Molly, it's very important-"

Though John disapproved of Sherlock's manipulative charms, even he had to give him credit.

"-Smashing…I'll be there in a moment."

"Come on John," Sherlock said after hanging up, bounding across the room for his coat, "No point sitting around is there?"

"Should I drop you off?" Tom asked tentatively, "My car is here-"

"Oh no, Mr. Hutchinson, you're coming with us in a cab. Hide your face using those shades, I get enough attention thanks to John's _blog_ as is. Come on!"

John briefly wondered as they left 221B, how Molly Hooper would react when she saw that Tom Hutchinson was in her morgue.

* * *

Judging by the undignified shriek and the near faint when Tom removed his hat and shades in the morgue, John Watson realized that Molly Hooper was in one word…a fangirl.

* * *

_Well….there you go. It's pretty obvious who I based Tom Hutchinson on, isn't it? I toyed for a while with Molly actually knowing Tom from a long time back, but I figured I could relate to her more as a fangirl. Besides, it's more fun if Sherlock has someone who Molly has a crush on to compete with for a change._

_I got a really great response for the last chapter and believe me when I tell you I'm in love with this fandom. Much love and thanks to-** chocolatequeen, flyingdonkeys, Juze, Moriarty-Florence Moriarty, N.E Laurent, MadAsAHatterJay, broadwayb, Abbeyroadgirl13, cutiepie030, amirizar2003, DarcyJayne, annie, SpencerReidFan89, Nocturnias, Zora Arian, chaoticmom, Nosside, the anonymous reviewers and especially the one who suggested that Molly should meet someone famous!**_

_At the request of my best friend, I have made a tumblr. And I should tell you I have finally found a place to dump all my Martin\Molly and Sherlolly drabbles. I'm adi-who-is-also-mou, if you want to follow me!_

_I hope you like this chapter, and please review!_

_Love,_

_Adi x_


	8. The Actor Part 2

The Actor part 2

_A/N: Hey guys, been having a really horrid week. But I won't bug you with that, so on with the story!_

_This chapter is dedicated to the ever wonderful Nocturnias, because I wanted to do something for her birthday…and I got a little late. (embarrassed laugh)_

_Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognize here and for good reason._

* * *

John stifled a snigger at the look on Sherlock's face. Ever since last week, when Molly Hooper more or less fell flat on the floor at the sight of a certain film actor; she had been flitting around them like a sparrow, waiting for their client to come visit.

For visit he did. He needed Sherlock's help, but Sherlock himself had said that there was not any opening point in the investigation until Tom held the party, which would be showcasing the coins, and there was nothing they could do but wait.

Right now however, even John himself couldn't find any explanation for Tom Hutchinson being at Bart's at night. Well, it was pretty obvious why he was there, blatantly obvious actually, but John preferred to attempt to see another side to the reason before stopping on one conclusion. He hadn't lived with Sherlock Holmes for nothing.

The way Sherlock was gripping the microscope showed that he wasn't very pleased with the supposed development either. That…and the scowl was a dead giveaway.

"Oh no, really?" came Molly's high-pitched squeal from the other end of the room, "then what did you do?"

"Well, after the horse reared up, I, being the idiot I am, didn't let go of the reins quick enough and ended up being tossed onto the ground, bruising my back for a couple of days. After that, I had to take basic horse-riding lessons _again_ because the director didn't want to take anymore risks-"

"I don't see why you have to keep coming here, Mr. Hutchinson." Sherlock interrupted rather rudely.

Tom laughed a bit uneasily, "Am I disturbing you…?"

"Yes, quite a bit."

"Oh, sorry! Well, I think I should be going…"

"Yes, you probably should." Sherlock said.

"You don't really have to." Molly said simultaneously.

All three men turned to look at her; she turned an interesting shade of red, "I mean…I…"

"Molly, would you like to have dinner with me?" Tom asked suddenly.

A shy smile graced Molly's face, and John knew she would have agreed straight away (Really, who could resist an offer like that?) if it hadn't been for Sherlock deciding to show what horrendous type of prat he could be, "Oh, she can't, _Tom,_ she's having dinner with me tonight."

"I am?" Molly asked, puzzled.

"She is?" John asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Yes, Molly, you are." Sherlock said in a voice that suggested that he was explaining to a four year old that two plus two made four, before turning back to his microscope, signaling the end of the conversation.

Molly looked like she was about to protest (And frankly, John really wouldn't have blamed her) when Tom said kindly, "Well, maybe some other time then." He gave Molly a dazzling smile, nodded at John and Sherlock (Sherlock ignored him completely) before putting on his hat and swept from the room in a rather dramatic fashion. John could have sworn that his only reason for wearing that trench coat meant he could have dramatic exits. Pfft, actors, John thought, but then again…Sherlock did the exact same thing, didn't he?

"Um…Why did you say I was going to have dinner with you?" Molly inquired hesitantly, eyes fixated to the back of Sherlock's dark, curly head.

"Didn't I make myself clear?" Sherlock drawled, "You are having dinner with me."

He shoved his right hand into his pocket and brought out a packet of crisps. Lobbing them across the room, Molly barely managing to catch them, he said, "There you go. Dinner."

John had to clench his hands so as not to punch Sherlock right on his bloody smug face.

* * *

Molly sat across the table, trying not to think that she was on a lunch date with _the_ Tom Hutchinson. She was relieved that she actually got this chance; Tom had come into the morgue during a time when Sherlock Holmes was thankfully absent, asked her out without any sort of interruptions and now she was sitting at a relatively posh café on what could only be called a date.

Now all she had to do was keep from squealing, fainting or doing anything that proved she watched his movies more times than necessary just to see him and hear him say words, and she would be fine. At least she hoped she could do that.

Everything was going absolutely fine, well as fine as it could go since Molly had already spilled her cup of coffee and was still apologizing endlessly- Tom had waved it off and already ordered another- when Sherlock walked in. Molly's heart, already approaching danger levels, threatened to give out altogether.

"Ah, Sherlock!" Tom said, with an easy smile, "Fancy seeing you here!"

Sherlock smiled with an insincerity that a toddler could see through, pulled up a chair and sat down at their table without as much as a by-your-leave.

Tom raised his eyebrows but said nothing. Molly just wanted to sink out of sight.

"Well, I was just saying to Molls-"

"Molls? Her name is Molly."

Molly really should've fainted when she had the chance. Now it was going to be just…awkward. Well, awkward-er if you know what she meant.

"Yes, and I think she deserves something even more cuter than that-"

Molly squeaked, hoping none of the men noticed her blush. Sherlock obviously would, but a girl could hope, couldn't she?

"_Cute?_ She's an accomplished pathologist-"

"That doesn't make her any less cute."

Oh lord, she was going to turn into a puddle, and Sherlock's rather unattractive scowl wasn't going to stop her.

"Anyway, as I was saying," Tom continued, eyeing Sherlock suspiciously, "You remember the gala I'm holding? The one you said would be sure to flush out the vermin that killed my security guard?"

"Oh you mean that guard, the one who happens to be a member of a gang of black market smugglers?"

Tom choked, "WHAT?"

"I asked around, Alexius Beppo is related to another much more notorious Beppo. He wasn't trying to protect those coins; he was going to steal them at a much later date. But you do carry on, what were you saying to _Molls_?"

"I…Sherlock…what do you mean he was-?"

"Molly, do you remember how many times I said that I find explaining every single one of my thought processes to others tedious?"

Molly nodded.

Tom gulped, "Then what am I supposed to do now?"

"Hold that gala, Mr. Hutchinson; I'm certain that's where things will come to a head."

"Right," Tom nodded, "I was planning on asking Molly to come as well."

He smiled at her.

"I…oh, really? I…mean, thank you, that's-"

"Well, of course she's coming," Sherlock said dismissively, "She's _my_ date."

What just made that whooshing sound? Oh right, that was Molly Hooper's coherence leaving the world.

"Your date? Oh no, no, Mr. Holmes, that's really not fair. I already planned out my date with her."

Yep, they should just bury her and be done with it.

"Molly, "Sherlock said in that velvety voice of his, grabbing her hand, "I picked out your dress; Anthea should be delivering it tonight."

"But I got you a dress too!" Tom said, grabbing her other hand, "And really, Molly, it wouldn't do for the host not to have such a lovely date now, would it?"

Sherlock scowled, his fingers tracing circles on Molly's wrist, "Well, here's the logical path; I _need your help Molly."_

It only registered to Molly now that she was barely having a say in this matter. Interrupting Tom before he could counter Sherlock, she said, "Actually Tom, it'll make things more easier if I go as Sherlock's date. I mean, he can't go alone, and John won't be accompanying him."

"I asked him, he said something obscene and then said no." Sherlock added helpfully. Tom snorted.

"Anywaaaay, "Molly continued quickly, but Tom cut her off.

"Fine, since the cover purposes are so important. But, you Molly Hooper will owe me a dance."

He got up, kissed her cheek and then, sparing a significant glance at Sherlock (which was returned with a glassy-eyed stare) he walked out.

Molly was trying oh so hard no to turn into a puddle that she barely heard Sherlock say, "The gala is tomorrow night at 8, I'll be around by 7 30, be ready by then."

* * *

"Trust Sherlock Holmes to pick out the loveliest dress. I should take him with me when I'm shopping." Mary said, admiring Molly's dark purple ankle length strapless dress. It actually looked very good on her, suiting her pale skin and giving the impression of something more hidden underneath all the sweetness.

Molly giggled, and Mary continued, "You, madam, are a very lucky girl. Tom Hutchinson and Sherlock bloody Holmes all in one day? How I envy you."

"I didn't get John Watson, now, did I?" Molly said cheekily.

"Right, well, that's 'cause he's mine." Mary said, a fond smile forming on her face, "So hands off!"

The two friends laughed, and that was when the door bell rang.

"Wow, Molly." John said when Molly opened the door, eyes twinkling, "You look lovely."

Molly didn't answer; she was too busy gawking at the man behind him. Dressed in a black suit and shirt, and looking positively delicious, was Sherlock Holmes, fingers flying on the keypad of his phone.

"Right," John said, nodding distractedly, "I'm taking Mary out tonight, so Sherlock, behave. I don't want to run around all night because you insulted some posh bloke and ended up being thrown in prison."

* * *

It seemed every man was out to turn Molly Hooper into mush, Molly thought vehemently looking at Tom -as they entered the ballroom, the gala in full blast- why else would they all decide to wear suits that more or less made her melt?

The moment Tom saw them, he ran over, taking Molly's hand in his, "Finally, you arrive. I was beginning to think-"

"Where are the coins?" Sherlock asked, eyes roving the entire length of the ballroom.

"Uh…yes, over there, by that big showcase. I was planning on selling them, actually, tonight. As soon as someone makes a bid-"

"Right, come along Molly." Sherlock grabbed her hand and began to drag her away.

"Why don't you ever wait for someone to finish what they are saying, Holmes?" Tom said, strutting along with them, "And actually, Molly, a song is coming up now, would you like a dance?"

"I would love to." Molly said smiling, but Sherlock snorted. Molly turned to him quickly, her hair swishing behind her, "Sherlock, I would like to dance now," She leaned closer to him, her heart thumping at her own nerve, "Maybe I can even find something out…?"

"I doubt that," Sherlock drawled, "But, fine. Don't blow up my plan."

"What plan?" Molly said, eyes widening.

"Nothing, nothing."

Molly was left staring after him, barely registering Tom putting his arm around her waist and pulling her onto the dance floor.

"Where's your mind at, Molls?" Tom asked, sounding a bit hurt.

"Huh?" Molly said dumbly, just noticing that she was on the dance floor, swaying to the music.

"I don't know whether to be offended or…well, flattered. Are you so bored or are you starstruck?"

"Oh…I…sorry. It's just something Sherlock said-"

Tom sighed, "Yes, I figured as much. We danced to two songs and all the time you thought about Sherlock? What's he got that I don't?" He finished teasingly.

"No, it's not like that! He said something about a plan, and it's being bugging me."

"And no amount of romantic dancing will make you forget that!" He laughed, "You're not the type to mix business with pleasure…" He leaned in closer, and she shivered, "I like that, you know."

She looked into his grey eyes, and for a moment, forgot everything. He was so close…

And Sherlock bloody Holmes picked that moment to crash in with the subtlety of a hammer.

* * *

"I would like a dance, Molly." Sherlock said, edging Tom out of the way, "It would look unseemly, if you dance all the time with Mr. Hutchinson here, and not your actual date."

"Ah…right…see you later, Molly." Tom said graciously, as Sherlock grabbed molly's hand and wrapped an arm around her waist.

"Sherlock…what's the plan-?" Molly started as soon as Tom was out of sight.

"Shut up, I'm thinking. Speaking of which, what's your plan? Completely ignore me and dance with the puffed up popinjay?"

"_Puffed up popinjay?_ Sherlock, really!"

"I said stop talking. You know I think better out loud, then why did you just leave me to the mercies of these _movie actresses _who keep trying to rub themselves on me?"

"Sherlock, I'm-"

"You're mine, Molly."

Molly's heart stopped. Literally stopped. He didn't say that, he couldn't have meant what he said right now. And judging by the look on his face, he had no idea of the implications of what he said.

Molly Hooper knew Sherlock Holmes well, though she didn't parade the fact.

He was looking at her…intensely, like he was seeing her for the first time. Molly's already much abused heart jumped when she realized how close he was.

Something crackled between them all of a sudden.

She was going to say something, anything, her brain was short circuiting, and blood was pounding in her ears…

A sharp scream broke whatever was forming between them. Molly and Sherlock looked up and to Molly's horror, she saw Tom Hutchinson's body fall from the one storey high balcony, like a rag doll, and land with an ominous _crunch_ onto the dance floor.

* * *

_Uh…tada! I had to stop it here; otherwise the chapter would have gotten really lengthy. And I figured this arc required another chapter to make things clearer and much less rushed. I'm already working on the next chapter, so it'll be up soon!_

_As always, much love and digital cookies to all who faved, alerted and of course reviewed this story of mine- **amirizar2003, Nocturnias,Sarai, lililoop, MadAsAHatterJayy,patemalah21, DarcyJayne, Zora Arian and the anonymous reviewers!**_

_And one biiiiig hug to **NoveraDeMedici,** without whom this story would not exist, and without whom I would probably go insane._

_I'm also on tumblr, adi-who-is-also-mou, if you want to follow me!_

_Help me get through a horrendous week and review?_

_Much Love,_

_Adi x_


	9. The Actor Part 3

The Actor Part 3

_Dear NoverDeMedici, I hope you get better soon! We both pick such great times to get confined to our beds don't we?_

* * *

Sherlock almost wrenched himself away from her, cursing under his breath, and dashed off towards the gathering crowd of panicked party-goers. Molly stood motionless for less than 30 seconds before her doctor instincts kicked in and her feet ran after him of their own accord.

Trepidation filled her heart as she neared the motionless body-_no, why call him a body? He wasn't dead, he couldn't be dead, that fall wasn't that bad-_ Sherlock standing stock still and hands steepled together, while all the time muttering something she couldn't quite catch, eyes scanning the entire area without really looking.

Molly shouted "Someone please call 999! Hurry!" before falling to her knees beside him and feeling his pulse. Relief flooded in as she felt the rather unsteady but still there and strong thrum of life under her fingers. She knew she wasn't safe yet, his head was bleeding from one side, from a cursory glance the wound seemed shallow but she was sure there would be bruises forming on his back.

"Argh, boring, so terribly predictable…couldn't handle the mind games, decided to steal like a petty thief, shouldn't have taken this tedious case…"

Molly's ears prickled, as a shiver ran down her spine at Sherlock's words. An ominous murmur passed through the crowd. "Sherlock," Molly hissed, "Can you please stop talking like that?"

"_Can _I?"

"Sherlock I don't have time for a grammar lesson! Where's the sodding ambulance?"

Sherlock looked at her; she was obviously very distressed. Why on earth was she distressed? He cast his eyes over her again…_Oh._

"Molly," he started in the tone John used when he was doing that being polite thing with clients, "He is fine. It is statistically unlikely he would suffer from any concussion; he didn't land on his head. Knocked out cold possibly, but fine nonetheless. You know that as well as I do."

Molly's shoulders relaxed a bit; it seemed she only required some sort of assurance. Ridiculous, she was an accomplished pathologist…he would never understand the ways of women.

A low groan interrupted his train of thought. "Ugh…My head…" Tom moaned, hand reaching up to touch the gash on the side of his skull. Molly gently pulled the hand away; smiling reassuringly at him.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Molly said standing up, "P-Please, stay calm, Tom's absolutely fine. Now a-as soon as….I mean…when the ambulance arrives, he'll be patched up and on his feet in no time."

Tom waved his hand in the general direction of the onlookers and then attempted to stand up.

"Lie down; I don't know the extent of your injuries yet." Molly admonished, pushing him gently back down.

"Oh Molly, I should really keep you…" Tom said, laying down obligingly and closing his eyes, a sort of bemused expression on his face. It was a good thing he had his eyes closed, Molly was certain that her whole body had gone embarrassingly red.

Sherlock cleared his throat, a low rumble of thunder which made Molly shiver, "I have phoned Lestrade and John, they should be on their way."

"What about the ambulance?"

Sherlock gave her a blank look, "I said I called John, didn't I?"

* * *

"Sherlock, next time Molly says call an ambulance, call a bloody ambulance." John growled, watching the paramedics who should have been _there before him _wrap a bandage around Tom Hutchinson's head gash. It hadn't required any stitches, thankfully, but he was advised to take a few days bed rest, to give the bruises on his back time to heal. "Though, I should've expected that my date couldn't possibly go all fine and dandy. You, dear sir, are a magnet for trouble."

Sherlock accepted the compliment with a gracious tilt of his head.

"It wasn't a compliment, Sherlock."

Sherlock _harrumphed _childishly before turning to Lestrade, who had been taking Tom's statement. "Inspector, don't you think it's about time you made an arrest?"

"Ah yes, but if you say that the culprit is who you say she is, Sherlock, this would be one of the greatest- O_h Lord…..Molly."_

"Hello, Greg." Molly said smiling, "Good to see you, this has been a long night. Sorry I couldn't meet up with you all earlier, my shoes were ruined, and thank god I packed my sandals." She said to the group at large, holding up the rather bloody heels for them to see.

"You look, you look lovely." Lestrade's eyes were as wide as saucers. John hid a smirk. Molly smiled ever so bashfully.

"Yes, yes, go on with all of your meaningless pleasantries," Sherlock said, moving slightly to put himself in the middle of Molly and the DI, his large frame almost hiding Molly's petite one from view, "While I die here of absolute and utter boredom."

"You should have been an actor, Mr. Holmes," Tom called from his place in the ambulance, "You certainly have a touch for the dramatic."

Sherlock scowled but otherwise ignored him, "I hope you have detained Madame Fox?"

"Yes, we have Sherlock; we are not as incompetent as you seem to think-"

"You could have fooled me-"

Molly ran for cover, moving quickly to sit next to Tom inside the ambulance; he grinned and put an arm around her.

"Boys, boys," John said quickly, "Wait, Sherlock, you figured out the case? Who's Madame Fox?"

"This case was utter tedium, Anderson could've solved it-" (there was an indignant _Hey!_ from Tom which went ignored) "- and Madame Fox is Fiona Fox, I'm surprised you haven't heard of her-"

"Wait…Fiona Fox, you mean the famous cat burglar?"

Sherlock actually looked impressed. "I follow things." John said as a way of explanation.

"Oh…anyway, Ms. Fox here is now a rather good con-woman, she managed to talk her way in tonight. Also, Mr. Hutchinson, I would replace my security guards if I were you; they are so susceptible to flattery. Well, so Ms. Fox had her eyes on those coins for a long while, my rather informed deduction is that she killed Alexius Beppo because he intended to steal them as well."

"The coins are that valuable?"

"Of course, they were smuggled from India for fifty million quid, didn't you know?"

Both Lestrade and Tom choked on their own spit. John, having been accustomed to Sherlock's high profile cases, remained composed.

"My only regret is that I assumed that this would be a brilliant case once I got a whiff of Fox…I'm so disappointed. She lost her cool when she saw I was involved, otherwise she wouldn't have attempted to kill Hutchinson when he went upstairs."

* * *

Molly and Tom watched Scotland Yard officials take away Fiona Fox. Molly was astounded to see that she was a stunningly pretty girl, almost ethereal in nature with a haughty posh air that almost rivaled Sherlock's.

Fiona stopped in front of Sherlock, "Mr. Holmes…ah, I was hoping we could've met in much more…_pleasurable_ circumstances."

Molly had an irrational urge to rip every single one of Fiona's blonde hair off.

"And I was hoping that you would've been more impressive for someone who had been burgling priceless Picassos from the age of 17." Sherlock said scathingly, "This was just childish and not worth my time."

Fiona's deceptively angelic visage twisted into a look of the deepest loathing…and it did not suit her. She looked like she was about to say something equally scathing but the constable holding her pushed her into the waiting car.

"Well, glad that's over." John said, sounding a bit stunned, "I'll be going now."

Sherlock made to follow him but John held up a hand. "Sherlock, I'm going over to Mary's." He hissed.

"Why?"

John spluttered, "Wha-_why_? Because I was on a bloody date with her, that's why! I'm staying over at her place-please don't ask me to explain _why_- and you need to drop Molly off to her house. How else is she going to go home? I'll see you in the morning."

John walked away swiftly, not wanting Sherlock to make up another excuse for him to stay back.

Sherlock exhaled resignedly and moved towards where Molly was, talking in hushed tones with Tom.

"So when can I see you again?" Tom asked, and Molly's stomach did a few back flips.

"Y-You want to see me again?"

"At the risk of sound stupidly cliché Molls, I really _really_ want to see you again. Maybe somewhere we don't have Holmes breathing down our necks?"

"Holmes would like to go home now. Come on Molly." Sherlock grabbed her hand and began to more or less drag her away.

"Oi! Oh no you don't, not this time!" Tom jogged along with them; grabbed Molly's other hand, whirled her around and mashed their lips together. Molly squeaked; not caring that Sherlock was still holding onto her right hand. She pulled it away and buried her fingers into Tom's hair, a tingling sensation spreading over her body, warm and slow.

And of course Sherlock just had to wrench them apart.

"Ahem. But really, public displays of affection, especially when somebody is this close in proximity, is rather disgusting. Now if you two are done exchanging saliva, I would like to get into a cab and drop her off now."

Molly glared daggers at Sherlock, quite an impressive feat for the usually demure pathologist, before giving Tom an apologetic look, "I'll see you soon?"

"Oh yes definitely." Tom said, pausing in his glare marathon with Sherlock. She smiled before letting Sherlock walk her towards the main road.

DI Lestrade came up to Tom and thumped his back, "Sorry about that, Sherlock's a professional cockblocker. Both me and John can attest to that."

Then Lestrade promptly broke up into a rather unmanly fit of giggles at the look on Tom's face.

* * *

After his rather childish complaints of wanting to go home, Molly expected Sherlock to just drop her off at her lobby, and not bother leaving the cab. What she didn't expect was him to pay the cabbie off and walk upstairs with her.

"So…um…tea?" She asked him tentatively at the door of her flat, fumbling with the lock. He nodded silently, and Molly's heart beat kicked up a notch. Sherlock had only been at her flat a couple of times, the first one being the night she helped him fake his death. The second visit had been a bit more pleasant even though he had chucked a bouquet of flowers under her nose.

Sherlock stalked into her flat, head swiveling around as if he was scouting the area. Toby meowed and came up to wind around Sherlock's left leg. He leaned down to scratch behind the cat's ear and Molly started walking towards her small kitchen, hoping that she had enough tea for the both of them- the last time she checked she had been running a bit low.

She had barely reached the kitchen counter when Sherlock came up from behind and grabbed her shoulders, whirled her around, and backed her up into the counter.

"Wha-what are you doing?" Molly squeaked; already she was having trouble thinking…Sherlock was so _so_ close. She clutched at his lapels, intending to push him away, but it was all she could do to hold on.

Sherlock cupped her cheek. Leaning in close, in a velvety voice that nearly turned Molly into puddle, he whispered, "I meant what I said before, Molly Hooper. You are _mine_."

Molly opened her mouth to protest but was met with Sherlock's lovely lips instead.

_Oh God._

Liquid fire was coursing through her veins, her body flashed hot and cold and god, this was just…heaven. He wasn't that brilliant, she already knew that from their one kiss in the morgue (she fantasized about that more times than she cared to admit…)-

Wait.

Molly pushed him away immediately; she knew if she hesitated she wouldn't be able to stop. They were both breathing hard, but maddeningly, Sherlock seemed calm and poised as always.

"Problem?"

Molly made a noise halfway between a laugh and a sob. "Yes, you're the problem. You can't keep doing this!"

"Doing what? Kissing you? Molly, I wouldn't be kissing you if I didn't want-"

"Yes, yes you would! You are just doing _that _so I'll dump Tom and go on being your bloody pathologist!"

"Molly-"

"Don't lie! That's the truth and you know it!"

Sherlock remained silent and Molly laughed wetly; indignant tears falling down her cheeks.

"I…Molly, I am-"

"Sorry? And as usual, apology accepted. Do you want to come over and beat up a dead body now Sherlock? Or would you rather blow up tiny things in your sodding Petri dish?"

Sherlock gaped at her, his eyes wide. It wasn't a look Molly was used to; but she was finding hard to care. She had had enough.

"I think…I think you should go, Sherlock."

"Yes,I…Molly Hooper, I am truly very sorry."

And with that, he swept from the flat.

After that night, Sherlock Holmes and Molly Hooper did not see each other for a month.

* * *

_Oh Sherlock. What did you do now? I seem to verging on the angst in my fics for a few days, and I really apologize. In my defense, I think a little angst is necessary for Sherlock. He should know that Molly is a much tougher cookie than he gives her credit for._

_Also, to those who might want to know, Fiona Fox is a master cat burglar from the Nancy Drew and Hardy Boys super mysteries. Seeing as they never caught her, I figured Sherlock should._

_The next update might take a while. I'm sick, and I will be undergoing surgery, and I have my left foot in a cast. (I think my melancholy is sweeping into my fics…) Or maybe the next update won't; seeing as I'm confined to my bed for the next four days._

_Anyways, thank you, thank you to all those who reviewed the last chapter! They really make my day! Digital hugs and cookies to- **GoldenVine, MadAsAHatterJayy, magicstrikes, Juze, SpencerReidfFan89, amirizar2003, Nosside, chironsgirl, whytejigsaw, lililoop, Zora Arian, Sarai, shepweir always, The AnnoyingOne97, Beth-TauriChick, patemalah21 and Stacy!**_

_Review the next chapter and make my foot feel better?_

_Much love,_

_Adi x_


	10. The Consulting Detective

The Consulting Detective

* * *

John creaked open the door of 221B to find his fiancé looking just as frazzled as he felt. He quickly edged himself outside, shutting the door before she could get a glimpse of the carnage inside, "Mary, love, I really wasn't-"

"Take me out, take me on a date or anything, just don't make me spend another moment with my crazed psychopath of a best friend!" Mary burst out; grabbing onto John's lapels; for a moment she almost looked deranged.

John gently pried her hands away, shooting her a weary look, "You know, that's supposed to be my line. What's wrong with Molly?"

"She just bloody _broke up_ with Tom bloody Hutchinson and now she insists on doing nearly all the _sodding _autopsies but she also wants me to stay around while she goes on about him and how it would never have worked and they are still friends and…and…"

"Alright, calm down, Mary. Let's go downstairs and have tea with Mrs. Hudson, 'kay? Then you can tell me everything from the beginning and um….more coherently?"

Mary smacked John right on the injured shoulder and that more or less told him that his fiancé needed a cup of tea as soon as humanely possibly to restore her normality.

* * *

Sherlock could not take it anymore; he was bored and he needed a body. Specifically a dead one. More specifically freshly deceased and hopefully with some sort of grotesque tumor that he could chop up into pieces and keep in the fridge.

He was just about to go raid John's room (must have hidden those cigarettes _somewhere_ up there) when John burst in and said, "Okay, that's it, it's been a month, you have to get out."

"It's my flat," Sherlock drawled, "You can't make me."

A sort of glint came into John's eyes, possibly a remnant from his Afghanistan days. "No, you _are bloody getting out of this flat before I chuck you out the window, you understand?"_

"You won't throw me out the window."

"Watch me. Go to Bart's or something. You haven't gone to Bart's in ages; don't you want to see what all those disgusting experiments you do, anything!"

Sherlock bolted upright, grabbed a fistful of his hair and gave it a vigorous shake, "Don't I want to?! What sort of _stupid_ question is that? After that thing with Molly, she won't even let me go to Bart's, she insists on just _sending those reports on_ or worse, she changes her shifts almost every sodding day, just so I can't drop in on her! And those other idiots…they threw away nearly all my cultures, even those that specifically said 'Not to touch'!-"

"Wait, what? Hold on, what do you mean a 'thing' with Molly? When did you two even _have_ a thing? And I thought you weren't…you know…Yes, just tell me what you did to Molly…again?"

Sherlock actually looked guilty, something that made John rear back a few spaces, "I…may…have kissed her to get her to stay…um…to get her to not enter into a _relationship_ with Tom Hutchinson…I-"

John pinched the bridge of his nose, "Oh good Lord, Sherlock, you clot."

"I'm not a clot!"

"Yes you are. Nobody in their right mind…Okay, alright. I'm not going to fix this up this time. Molly was right, absolutely right to kick you out the way she did. Now, you go crawling back to her, _beg_ for her forgiveness, and hope that-"

"I don't _beg."_

"When it's Molly Hooper, you do. Just go to Bart's, okay wait, first buy some ice-cream and then go to Bart's. And maybe, just maybe she will be kind enough to forgive you, _again…_Take her out somewhere, could you do that?"

"No."

* * *

Molly Hooper was just finishing up her last autopsy report, dreading the moment she had to go home. It was not like she actually had anything to be ashamed of; Tom and she had mutually agreed that their relationship was going nowhere and they broke it off while they still remained friends…instead of letting it fester like an infection which would ultimately hurt both of them.

Molly sighed; Tom was a great guy. Just not the one for her; though her mother had been _livid_.

Right now, she was also dreading the time when she ultimately had to face Sherlock. Not that she felt bad for doing what she did; Sherlock had to grow up and realize Molly Hooper wasn't just some sort of plaything he could pick up and claim at random.

You would think the man might have garnered a bit more respect for her; she did help him fake his death.

She was just contemplating on what to do when the door creaked open and a very familiar dark mop of hair peeked in.

Molly's heart nearly stopped. She hadn't been expecting a confrontation this soon.

Sherlock stood in front of her; Molly realized with a jolt that this was possibly the first time she had seen Sherlock just downright uncomfortable.

Sherlock unsure of himself actually made her think there was something hideously wrong with the world.

"Sherlock, I…" she started but trailed off when he held out a small cup of ice-cream. A small cup of ice-cream from her favorite gelato place. The one she only went to on her birthday.

"John told me to get you ice-cream; this was the only decent place."

"Oh…I…why?" She tentatively took the cup; her heart giving a happy jump when she realized it was her favorite flavor. She didn't question how he knew, he was Sherlock and that was explanation enough.

"I heard about…Hutchinson…John told me."

"Oh," Molly said, eyes dropping, "Yeah…its fine."

Sherlock looked at her for a long while. "Molly, go on a date with me."

Molly, who had just taken the first bite of that heavenly gelato, nearly spit it out again, "I'm sorry, what?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, back to being himself again, "Honestly, didn't you hear me? I'm asking you out on a date. It's when two people who like each other go out and have fun."

"I know what a date is, Sherlock," Molly snapped, "I'm just…Wait, did you say you liked me?"

Sherlock gave her an infuriating look, "Oh god. Will you just get your coat and come along?"

"Stop being pushy." Molly retorted.

He suddenly smiled at her, "I like this you. What happened?"

"I dated Tom Hutchinson." Molly said cheekily, smiling up at him as they walked out the door.

* * *

Outside of Molly's deceptively calm interior, she was screaming. Not actually screaming, per se, just her brain singing _Sherlock Holmes just asked me out on a date, Sherlock bloody Holmes just asked me on a bloody date._

"And there you are, back to your old self again."

"Huh?" Molly asked, somewhat dumbly, trying to blink the haze out of her eyes.

Sherlock snorted derisively, "You are back to being 'mousey' Molly. I liked it when you were being _spunky._ It suited you better."

Molly rolled her eyes, "Okay, Holmes, you want spunky? Alright then," she quickened her pace, having to take two strides for every one of his, damn his gorgeous legs, "You are a sodding jealous prat."

"Excuse me, I'm a what?" Sherlock said, affronted.

Molly poked his back, "A jealous _prat._" She enunciated every word slowly and clearly, "And it's your entire fault I can't keep a single relationship for more than a month."

Sherlock grabbed her hand and dragged her into a warm restaurant. He didn't answer until they were both seated.

"My fault?" He snapped, "How is it _my_ fault you are unable to-"

"You always need to poke your freaking Athenian nose into my business. God, all those men I turned down, just because you felt the need to _keep your pathologist_ from running away!"

"You were going to run off and leave me with all those incompetent quacks at Bart's," Sherlock snapped in a lower voice, "And I told you already, I need you."

"To fake deaths and to get dead bodies. Sherlock, I'm not saying that I don't want to be your friend; it's just that…you need to give me some space. Also…" she dropped his gaze suddenly, "I can't wait for you forever."

Confusion was etched upon his face. Then comprehension dawned.

"Molly…"

"And this, you asking me out on…whatever this is. God, could you stop it as well? Just, don't do things like this anymore….especially if you don't have any intention of being my boyfriend."

"Can't I?" Sherlock asked, in all seriousness.

"Can't you what?" Molly asked, sure she misheard him.

"Be your boyfriend," Sherlock said, rolling his eyes, "You really need to work on your listening, Molly."

"You can't be serious." Molly said eyes as big as saucers, "Are you on drugs again?"

"Not for a while…no." Sherlock suddenly looked unsure of himself, and it scared Molly to no end.

"Order something, will you? You might as well eat." He said quietly. Molly nodded in agreement.

The rest of the meal was spent in absolute silence.

* * *

"Well…uh…thank you for dinner." Molly said as they neared her flat.

Sherlock nodded silently.

"So…then…bye."

"I meant what I said, Molly." He said quietly, grabbing her hand and pulling her to him. He buried his face in her neck, "I know I can't be anything _conventional,_ and I don't want to be. Just….don't leave. Don't date those horrible men, you are my pathologist, you are _mine._ You have just infiltrated my mind palace, I can't cut those vines away, I can't delete it…I…"

"Wow." Molly interrupted, "You must really like me, then. Alright then, Holmes," She suddenly moved away, still within his arms reach but enough for him to miss her body heat.

The playful tone in her voice made his brow furrow.

"Let's play a little game, shall we?" Molly said, giggling a bit, "If you can win, you get a very nice prize, if I may say so."

"What's the game?"

"You have to win me. I did dump Tom Hutchinson for you." She whispered, leaning into his ear.

"Oh, then I hope you'll make it interesting, Ms Hooper?" Sherlock said, giving his most charming lop-sided grin.

Molly smiled at him.

Sherlock leaned in, intent on kissing her; she pressed her finger on his mouth and increased the distance between them. She laughed at his frustrated look, "Now, it wouldn't be fun if it was _this easy_, now would it?" She turned away, out of his arms and opened her door.

"Goodnight Mr. Sherlock Holmes."

Sherlock was left staring at the closed door, sudden frustration pumping in his veins.

* * *

"Okay, maybe just this once." Molly said, grabbing at his collar almost five minutes later when he stood outside waiting for a cab, "But from tomorrow, we play the game, you understand?"

And then she brought their lips together in a most bruising and _exhilarating _kiss.

* * *

_A/N: Look Novera, I actually finished a story! The first one in three years! Me so very happy! That saying, I have you guys to thank! Sorry it took so long, I kept getting distracted by my other plot bunnies…and that damn surgery._

_Thank you for your support and kind words! Hugs and kisses to all those who faved, alerted and reviewed to this story of mine- **magicstrikes, MadAsAHatterJay, lililloop, amirizar2003, whytejigsaw, Zora Arian, patemalah21, Jenna Yemowa, almightyswot, saicho-18, Anonymous,The GoldenHairedMockingJay, shepweir always, Nathalie,Xanna1999, the guest reviewers and Mione W.G ( who read my story in one go and made me so happy)**_

_I'm going to go watch Parade's End now…_

_And thanks so much to NoveraDeMedici, for being the Sherlock to my John._

_Now go read my other stories (blatant self advertising)_

_Hope you like this and please review!_

_Much love,_

_Adi x_


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